Subtleties
by Silenced Cry
Summary: So much offered and too little received -the pains and risk of harboring a simple crush. Onesided Auron/Yuna drabbles
1. Guardian

| **Subtleties **|

Disclaimer: characters used in the entirety of this work of fiction are © Square-Enix unless otherwise stated

Format: I'm trying a minimalist approach, mostly because the content of this story came to me through a collection of imagined scenes and images that were driven almost entirely by emotion in my own experience. Each chapter is meant to be a fragment, a moment, that will lead to a progression and collectively create a larger image. I acknowledge that perhaps this is pretentious, but also that it was not intentional.

Inspiration: life, and also a wonderful rendering of a more 'modern' Auron created by 'Kenu', entitled 'Realistic Auron' on Deviantart(dot)com

Context: (AU) Auron is a reclusive, and philosophical artist nestled in an urban environment -truly a man surrounded by many. Yuna is simply a young woman who lived a secure and insignificant childhood in the eyes of her father's closest (yet estranged) friend, and who now, is troubled by the level of her own importance. _This story is about longing that is never satisfied, feelings of inadequacy, and love that is never realized or allowed to begin_. [onsided Auron/Yuna]

Constructive criticism is welcome.

* * *

**[1]** **Guardian**

On the day of the funeral, she is not there and her absence is not entirely forgiven only because it is not completely understood. The mourners here knew her father and speak kind words, but they will cry tears that are later overcome and then go about their business. It is not that they are insensitive; it is just that it is safer to leave the dead where they lie. But Yuna is only sixteen and has not learned how to grieve, being far too young to remember her mother's death, and now, finding herself completely alone. He knows the feeling.

For that reason, he visits the graveyard everyday and waits. Sometimes the wind rustles the leaves and the sky is still a bright summer blue, and none of this matches the solemnity of this place. Sometimes the flowers resting beneath the headstone have changed, and sometimes they have been left to wilt. The seasons will change, and people will go about their lives, but Braska will still be dead. He is certain she knows this and is reminded of it every day.

When three weeks have passed, there are red tulips on the ground, and one in her coupled hands that she cries into. She is sitting on the grass behind the tombstone with her back bracing against it; she is turned away from the inscription, physically distanced from what it is because she cannot reconcile the reality with her heart yet. When Auron approaches her, he notices that she is in her school uniform and he can guess that she has tried at pretending to go on as normal. But for her slim fingers once steepled in prayer, but now slackened in her grief, he can tell that it has not worked.

And for all of the promises that he has made that must be kept, he pulls her up by these very same hands, and says 'Stay with me.' Yuna cries into his chest, over his heart, and does not refuse.


	2. Shared Loss

**[2] Shared Loss**

'You were scared of me when you were a child.'

Yuna giggles a bit at this, embarrassed but not ashamed of it either. _You were too large and imposing, and dark, and I didn't know if I should've felt safe with you or in danger_, she thinks. 'I'm not scared anymore Auron.' B_ut sometimes I still feel like a child around you_, she thinks.

It's almost a smirk that he gives, grizzled and tired. 'That's a relief', he says although it doesn't sound like one.

She leans her head against the cool glass of the window, 'I'm an orphan, aren't I?'

'Yes.'

'And so are you.'

He hands her a cup of tea and she takes it distractedly, fearing that perhaps she has selfishly reminded him of a harsh truth in drawing parallels between them. He looks out the window while she looks at him. Auron doesn't answer her directly but instead says 'Time adds and subtracts. The things we have today are gone tomorrow.'

She notices how his gaze is unintentionally drawn to the black and white framed photo by her side. She had always seen it as a child but was intuitive enough not to ask about the beautiful woman in it. But for all his quiet reverence and deliberate avoidance towards it, Yuna suspects that she was a wife or lover. Auron's walls and countenance are barren of any obvious memories so she knows that the ones he keeps plain and visible are for those who are gone -set adrift from his life, or dead.

'I wish it wasn't that way', she says quietly.

He sits down beside her and his knee braces against hers for lack of space, but neither pulls away. 'If nothing lasts, does it mean that nothing is worth having?' and he says it like a question that already has an answer.

A single tear escapes her eye and she smiles through it, feeling foolish for crying. He lets her lean against his shoulder and feels the sad purr of her words, 'It's just hard sometimes.'

He relaxes himself, his unfamiliarity with closeness for so long showing through, and his arm swallows her small frame. 'I know' he says, 'I know.'


	3. Like A Fever

**[3] Like A Fever**

The sun is finally setting but her skin is humid and damp. She stretches one leg out, no longer able to withstand the dull ache of it from her awkward sitting position, and flexes her toes. There is a half empty glass of water resting obediently by her side near the novel she had set down. The sharp smell of drying paint still reaches her, though the canvas is set on the other side of the balcony and she is two steps down on the fire escape. Yuna dips her fingers into the glass, leans her head back and sprinkles the water onto her skin.

'You should drink it, not play with it', she hears him chastise gently.

She leans back with the incline of the steps against her spine, so that he may see her sheepish smile though it is upside down. Auron receives it while offering only the ghost of a grin before examining his work. He adjusts the canvas though it needed no adjusting and she asks, 'Is it dry?'

'Almost.'

Yuna ties her hair into a knot that unfurls and slackens against one shoulder. Nothing keeps in the heat.

He steps down to sit beside her on the step, and the tremor of his motion is felt all through her body. To her left is red brick, and in front of her is the apartment's wall with the neighbour's window jutting through, but from where Auron is sitting he can see the sun sinking behind skyscrapers. Perhaps his artistic eye is razing it for inspiration, separating what it is from its cliché, but instead he says, 'The heat is unbearable.'

'The summers here are hot. It's like a fever that doesn't leave', she smiles and traps a modest puddle of water in the creases of her fingers, and lets them fall like raindrops on her skin, over her closed eyes, past her chin, and down her neck . 'But I like it.'

And her last words are like a sigh that he feels against his chest when he leans over to take the glass of water by her side. He drinks it, and it travels down smooth and languid, for he was parched without realizing. He sets it down, and her gaze rests on him, soundless and secretive like a cat.

'You should play with it, not drink it', she teases and lightly presses her wet fingertips to his cheek, turns his too-serious face to hers and kisses him softly on the cheek before leaving.

The sun is slow to set but Auron waits until the shadows inch close, trying to forget the innocent intimacy of it all.


	4. Insecurity

**[4] Insecurity**

This is not the first time a client has demanded privacy during a portrait session, but it is the first time that Yuna doubts the sincerity of the request. It is out of irrational protectiveness of him and quiet disobedience that she lingers near the slightly ajar door.

Auron whispers his instruction into the woman's ear and she smiles slow and foxish with dark lipstick and pushes one strap past her shoulder. He returns behind the canvas, a haziness in his step that betrays his fascination. It is no wonder. She is beautiful in a way that other women are not -refined, wizened and all the more alluring for her elegance.

Yuna watches him watching her and notices that the cigarette is slack in his lips, that his eyes linger longer on the woman before he makes a single charcoal stroke on the canvas, and is reminded that she is not enough of what he wants.


	5. All Found Out

**[5] All Found Out**

She sits quiet as a cat, observing him. Usually he likes to be alone when he is creating, but her presence does not disturb his level of concentration. This familiarity was built over time and she has learned to accept this passive role because she is privy to things that others are not in this moment. The way his brows furrow, his frown creasing his face yet still placid. He is painting the woman from before, and Yuna can't quite quiet her jealousy, her inadequacy. She wants to be noticed, she is restless, anything to take his eyes away from his work, away from that woman.

Yuna walks slowly, paces, dares not hover near his elbow for fear of disturbing his space because it is something he does not always forgive. She fiddles with the brushes and the jars and notices the rain hitting lightly against the window. She tries a glance at him and his eyes are trained on the canvas but his words are for her, 'You're restless'. _Like a child_ she imagines him saying, for that's what it feels like to her.

She frowns, 'Am I always as a child to you?'

He does not answer for a while, he is conjuring. He smiles tightly, sarcastically -he knows what this is about. 'Would you rather be a woman?'

Yuna is caught, wanting to admit it and wanting to maintain her pride. 'Stop teasing me, Auron. You are so unkind sometimes.'

'Unkind I may be, but teasing I am not'.

She says nothing in response, and just like that he is done humouring her.

'Light me one.'

His peripheries allow him to see that she pouts at his order, takes a cigarette between her thin fingers, lights it and watches the smoke drift for a few seconds, wanting to disobey in small ways but being too eager for his gratitude, however minute, to refuse him. He doesn't even stop his work to let her by so she slips under his hands -one leaning against the easel and the other one painting crimson onto the backdrop. She is not startled by their closeness but at how he pauses his work, waiting. She holds it between her fingers and he bends to take it in his mouth, careful not to touch her and continues on, but his stubble still grazes coarse like sand against her wrist and her breath catches. Yuna thinks of how she is jailed in this small space within his arms with the canvas to her back and does not want to leave it but does not want _him_ to know that. She moves to leave but he halts her with his voice, 'She's beautiful isn't she', he nods his chin towards the painting.

Yuna turns around to look at it despite herself, feeling the heat of his chest against her back. 'Gorgeous' she whispers, trying not to sound heartbroken, and trying not to stiffen. He is cruel to make her look upon it and compare herself against it. Auron grunts in agreement, 'But you must remember that beauty by itself does nothing. Such things are distractions in life, well-appreciated but not important'.

Yuna hugs herself closely for want of touch and says what he never voices, 'I should not want to be just a mere distraction.'

He smiles ever so slightly though she doesn't see it, because only she comes close to interpreting his cryptic words so accurately.

'I suppose', she hums and leans back against him, thinking she doesn't always want what's good for her_._


	6. Spite

**[6]** **Spite**

She is seventeen, sitting with crossed legs on a low, brick wall that is slightly damp from yesterday's rain. The underside of her thighs and the back of her calves are chilled from it, but she ignores the feeling. Tidus is late -he's always late- but she always forgives him for it, only being a reckless and endearing boy, and the closest thing she's had to a boyfriend.

He arrives with a smile, leans both of his hands on either side of her lap, and gives her a lingering kiss. It is her first. And although it is not from the person she desires it from, she relishes in its feel knowing that if he cared at all that she was not yet home, if he glanced out from his studio window, Auron would see.


	7. Reminisce

Author's note: _italics_ indicate Auron's flashback from his younger days

* * *

**[7] Reminisce **

_"We were too young", she says one day, fiddling with the ring on her finger. _

_Time won't tell us when, but somehow a rift has edged its way between us, and it's only unbearable because I know it can be fixed. But my wife, with her quiet beauty and easy frustration, has let it grow toxic in her heart without telling me. _

_"Don't make excuses", I say. _

_She looks at me from across the room, and smiles sickly-sweet out of habit, offering me the very least she can give because I deserve that much. _

_"You've stopped loving me." _

_I can't believe the words even as she speaks them. The ring slips off her finger too easily onto the table, and she would have walked up and left it there if I didn't close the distance and trap her hand with mine as she was setting it down. I hold her 22-year old body against mine and tell her not to leave. _

_She kisses me soundly, lingering, and walks out the door. _

* * *

Auron is in his room with only a dusty lamp illuminating everything in a murky sort of yellow-orange. There is a glass in his hands, one he's been looking into for answers, and finding none, drinks the rum straight. It's a miserable sort of anniversary he's celebrating, but to Auron, victories and losses alike must be honoured.

Yuna leans against the doorframe and observes him unnoticed. He isn't shielding her from his weakness this time, and this is why she is fascinated. He rises from his desk and takes the bottle from where he put it on the bookcase, and pours more into his glass. She blushes at his loosened collar and partially unbuttoned shirt and quickly meets his eyes.

'I'm going out', she says.

He nods, not even looking at her and there is something dangerous and new about him. She closes the distance between them, rises up on her toes and misses his cheek, kissing his jaw instead, 'Goodnight'.

By chance or by a habit long-suppressed and meant for someone else, his hand rests at her hip, 'Wait'.

She is surprised by the touch and how the warmth of it spreads, stiffening against it before relaxing. His eyes darken and he squints a bit in the low light, and he is seeing someone else when his gaze traverses downwards to take in what she's wearing. Her heart races, having never been exposed to this glimpse of primalcy in him, being so close and under his touch in this way, with liquor on his breath and the almost-darkness of the room. There is something overwhelmingly masculine in his presence that almost scares her only due to its unfamiliarity. But the moment is lost, and he remembers again, letting his hand drop and his eyes meeting hers in a demand.

'I found it', she says, speaking of the dress that so captivated his interest, 'in a box near the back of the studio'.

He frowns, steps away from her and downs his glass, 'Don't do it again'.

She stands her ground and almost accuses, 'I remind you of her'.

He turns away from her, rakes his fingers roughly through his hair and sighs like an old pain has returned, 'Sometimes.'

Yuna leans back against the desk, and he won't turn to see how the soft light makes her even more radiant in that red dress or how her hair slips away from her bare shoulder, silk-smooth.

'I'm sorry' she says, even though she isn't -not entirely- having been selfish for his attention for so long.


	8. Indulgence

**[8] Indulgence**

His bedroom door is closed, though he is not in the room, and in fact, is not even home -he rarely is these days. Inspiration or something like it takes him out of the apartment and away from her. She tries not to mind. But for some reason, it makes her curious. Curious, she convinces herself, not suspicious. She suffers with this thought, even as she opens the door.

Auron's room is a dusky sort of place today when she enters it, with colourless light slipping through the blinds in horizontal lines that trace over the length of her body. Horizontal lines like a prisoner's uniform, but she feels no guilt. It is a comfort to be surrounded by the things that are so definitively his, especially as they speak of his presence when he has only been denying her of it; even when he is here, he is guarded and Yuna can tell that this is distinctly done for her sake. It hurts the same as a refused embrace; closeness is not something he wants to share, or perhaps not with _her_.

Yuna rests on the edge of his bed, and smooths both her hands on the sheets; it leaves an impression like wet sand wiped clean of its ripples into uniformity. It is so hard to quiet her insecurities but she likes to daydream sometimes and decides to lie down –an easy indulgence. She is completely enamored in an innocent way, although his scent, his sheets, his bed, do not satisfy.

There is a wine glass on the bedside table, only a sip of wine left, and she takes it in her hand, almost making the mistake of putting her lips on it -the rim of it is already stained with dark lipstick like half a kiss. And suddenly Yuna feels like she has intruded on an intimate moment and wishes she hadn't.

When Auron walks into the room and sees the wine glass in her hands, he doesn't want to meet her eyes, but does anyways -afterall, he has done nothing wrong.

'You needed a memento?' she asks.

And for that he has no answer.


	9. Charade

**[9] Charade**

This can't go on anymore.

He pretends her eyes aren't tear-soaked, and she pretends that she doesn't care whether he notices, now tired of the shame that comes with admitting your feelings without saying a single word, being unable to hide your own secret. She feels cheated and she shouldn't. He feels as if he needs to explain himself, but he shouldn't. Justifications suggest guilt, and perhaps it is deserved. Auron had seen this coming from afar, ignored it and diminished it, but privately wonders if he had done this more for his sake than hers.

There are words he could say, but he does not know them, and in fact, had hoped that this conciliatory gesture – this place – would speak for him instead. They are at a cafe table together overlooking a quiet street, and it is their usual spot but for their unusual predicament. There is the ticking of a metronome keeping time for a solitary, unused piano and the slightest hint of a breeze. But for once, the calm stoicism of this place only conceals their shared unease which lingers and settles between eyes that dare not meet.

She nibbles on the cap of her pen, feigning concentration on a well-worn novel, and gives smiles to the waiter but not to him. A lock of hair falls into her eyes, his coffee turns stagnant, and neither of them says a word though they both want to.


	10. All Good Things

**[10]** **All Good Things...**

The window presents a bruised shade of sky, mauve and cloudy. He'd like to think that this is what keeps him uninspired -a dull environment promises a blank canvas. But in all other occasions, it would provoke the opposite. Auron does not admit it to himself, but he cannot even paint the feelings away; they remain in him unresolved, stagnant. Nothing is the same. Change yields uncertainty, and that is what he dislikes. He could not blame her though, he could never blame her.

She is on the balcony when he approaches, with her arms wrapped around herself to keep out the late August chill. It's one of those odd days that feels like a premature autumn, with a breeze that riffles through their hair like rough fingers. Auron offers her his coat, but she doesn't take it.

'Maybe I should leave', she says. Her voice is distant, heavy with accumulated thoughts.

Seeing that she is being stubborn, he places the coat over her shoulders like a heavy cape and leaves his hands resting there because it is as if this moment has occurred years and years ago, and old fears have been resurrected despite his best efforts to bury them. He wants to tell her to stay, but if he did, she would entertain reasons with meanings he did not intend. He is not selfish enough to let her fall victim to those feelings once again, especially now that it seems she has tried to quell them. Instead he asks, 'Where would you go?', and he wants to sound rational but it comes across as indifferent, and it pierces through her heart.

'I don't know', she murmurs. 'I don't have anyone else. You don't need to remind me of that.'

'That wasn't my intention' he says, and it feels like he's making all the wrong moves in this delicate game. She nudges off his comforting grasp and steps away from him, for it pains her heart too much to bear his touch any longer.

'What _is_ your intention?'

She distrusts so easily now, but has not meant to. Auron forgives her for it, and knows that it comes from defending an injured heart.

'Only to protect you, to do what is best', he says.

'To do what is best for whom?'

It is a simple enough question, and yet he cannot answer it. He does not want to.

His hands, now bereft of her, find their way into his pockets. Perhaps this is how it should be. When he speaks it is out of painful wisdom, and perhaps wry humour that seemingly evades all of the answers she seeks, but in truth, answers them all. 'You are certainly Braska's daughter.'

'And you were his closest friend.'

'_That is why_, Yuna.' And his voice is ragged with multiple meanings, all of which she understands. He has been conflicted for so long with duties to the dead, duties to her and duties to himself, and for once in his life, Auron wishes he was not so honourable.

There is unflinching silence and many steps between them, leading apart instead of forward. He crosses them towards her anyway, if only because this feels like a goodbye. She smiles shyly, sadly, because this is the least she can give him for all the hurt his kindness has caused.

'I'm sorry', he says, but she shakes her head as if to dismiss it. She could not blame him, she could never blame him.

'The heart wants what it wants', she concedes. _But I wish it didn't._

_

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_

**End**


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